


The Girl

by maevestrom



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Acting, Alternate Universe - College/University, Character Study, Childhood Memories, F/F, Friendship/Love, Herbalism, Identity Issues, Plants, Playwriting, Repression, Writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:54:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23138017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maevestrom/pseuds/maevestrom
Summary: This is a story of new college friends, a longtime writer and a budding herbalist.This is a story of a girl who falls in love with the only friend she's made in years. This is a story of a girl who's been acting for longer than she's been in Drama Club. This is the story of a writer who's forgotten what it's like to be a child. This is the story of an herbalist who wants to forget. This is a story of a love that neither one is sure that they want.This is the story of two girls who find themselves in a character performed on a stage.This is the story of the performer and the muse.This is the story of The Girl.
Relationships: Maribelle/Olivia (Fire Emblem), Sallya | Tharja/Tiamo | Cordelia, Stahl/Libra
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Two Weeks Notice

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [In Celebration (25+5)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9128692) by [LazyWriterGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyWriterGirl/pseuds/LazyWriterGirl). 



> Coronavirus fucking sucks. 
> 
> Inspiration for this pair came naturally from memory, then I reread LazyWriterGirl's work (one of my favorite artists) and realized just how perfect she is for this pairing. I only hope I can measure up.
> 
> Inspiration for Josie and the play taken from the best person I know, an all-capital The Girl in her own right. She will never know that I wrote this.

Tharja lives by a simple few priorities. Don’t piss off her roommates. Do well on her grades. Avoid being talked about. When that fails, avoid caring. 

That’s it. 

At least it was until Cordelia turned up in her life. 

Tharja is hardly one to say she has a busy life. She’ll dodge the question if someone asks if it is fulfilling. It works for her. She gets done what she needs to do and fill in any hollow feelings by turning her room into a jungle. 

(She doesn’t need a _keep out_ sign for her room. The plants do just fine.

The venus flytrap especially. God bless little Nyx.)

That is, save for the large Cordelia-shaped chasm in her life. The woman plummeted into it like a cartoon character craters the Earth. 

Tharja isn’t used to it. 

She should hate it more than she does. If nothing else, she had a plan for her day to day life, one that involved doing her best in what she cared about and not giving a fuck about what she didn’t. Eventually, that life was going to blossom like the plants she loved and take her to a place better than this, than the basement room of a shared house by her tiny medicinal school where she has to use an abundance of sun lamps to keep her plants lively. It was gonna do _something,_ goddamn it, even if she didn’t know what. 

Cordelia is something that Tharja cannot solve, cannot decipher, can only feel. 

Tharja hates feeling.

(She also loves it more than anything else in the world.)

~●~

History class is the most boring of the classes that Tharja is taking. If there’s one thing that Tharja is a firm and learned believer of, it’s that the past should stay the past. She recognizes that she needs to learn about the history of medicine and herbal medicine both to get a grasp on her place in the machine, but _gods,_ it is boring. 

(Her mother would chastise her for trying to make her living off of making herbal medicine but it’s really her fault that her daughter would gravitate towards the alchemy she was always good at considering she did her best to make Tharja feel like shit about everything else.)

Her phone vibrates. She lasts five seconds before sneaking it under the desk. 

_I’d just like to confirm that you will be here tonight, correct?_

Tharja smirks. Oh, she of little faith. _Of course._

The person next to her smirks, some carrot-top in a charcoal tracksuit and headband, both even gloomier than Tharja’s own wardrobe. (She prefers her black to have a slight violet tint.) She can’t tell if he thinks he’s won something or if he’s just amused at a fellow rulebreaker. Gaius gets in trouble a lot, and unlike Tharja barely has the benefit of good grades to back him up. He’s probably only here because learning about the human body would probably justify his sweets habit. 

Gaius clears his throat. 

“Is something wrong?” she hisses. 

Gaius doesn’t scare easily, so he just points at the front of the room with a lazy grin. 

“Yes, now enjoy that. You could certainly use some form of education.” 

Gaius just chuckles. “Good job at being a halfway decent student enough that they don’t kick you out.”

Tharja shrugs. “They’ll let anyone stay.” Her eyes point at Gaius to say all that she needs to say. 

Gaius just gets a gummy worm out of his chest pocket and tosses it in his mouth. _As long as it keeps him from talking._

Tharja isn’t prepared for the pop quiz, but a lot of these questions refer to things that she knows, so she’s able to fill it out with ease and confidence.

Looking to her right, she can tell that Gaius wasn’t prepared for it either.

She giggles as obnoxiously girlishly as possible as she stands up, paper in hand, and hands it to the teacher. She takes her seat, watching Gaius struggle to fill in the first few questions of the quiz. 

“Multiple choice, too. Tsk tsk.”

“Can it, Sunshine,” he responds with little malice, too busy trying to chase down answers in his mind. 

“If you insist,” she says with an evil little smile. “Good luck.”

She looks down at her lap again as her phone vibrates. It took Cordelia a few minutes to get back to her, but better late than never. 

(She knows what never feels like. Never again.)

_Splendid! I’m honored, as usual._

As Tharja goes to respond that it’s nothing, cheeks angling towards red, she gets another message. 

_I look forward to seeing you, dear Tharja._

Now she’s on fire. She’s on fire and she knows it. Thankfully Gaius is too focused on not failing to tease her for it, which is good because she’d probably tell him to choke on a gummy worm and she doesn’t want to ruin the mood. 

This is her reward for doing a good job. 

_Of course._

Tharja smiles. She isn’t used to it.

She probably shouldn’t get used to it.

Shame that she wants it so bad. 

~●~

She’s not an animal and she’s not obsessed past the point of organization like her roommate Miriel is, or just flat out lazy like her other roommate Henry is. Her room may look like an untamed wildland, but it is easily the cleanest room in the house. 

It takes her a half-hour to water the plants and feed Nyx, crooning compliments and sweet nothings to each one. A half-hour well spent, if you ask her. Afterward, she peruses her closet for acceptable clothes, though she highly doubts that many of her clothes are acceptable by societal standards.

Or at least, churchgoing standards. 

(Tharja prides herself on not going for years now and she hopes she never has to go again.)

She settles on her favorite short skirt and a crop top with a moth on the center, wings across her breasts. Both are black leaning violet. She elects to leave her skin bare, taking a trenchcoat and stuffing it in her bag before she goes to get her helmet. 

Then she checks her phone again.

_Fuck._

She isn’t sure what she’s going to do with the hour and a half she didn’t realize she still had before she has to leave. Maybe take a brisk nap. Naps are the fastest way to make time go by without interacting with other people. So she lies down. 

There are a pair of arms around her waist. 

Steady breathing in her ear. 

A set of legs intertwined with hers.

And Tharja can’t go back. 

_This is wrong. This is wrong, wrong, wrong._

Tharja can’t stop her mind. She can’t stop the idea of being covered, of being consumed, of being loved.

Of Cordelia whispering in her ear. 

_My dear. My dear Tharja._

They’re her own words at least. They’re not the words of the last girl she was in love with so long ago, a girl she rarely talks to. They’re something that Cordelia would, and has, said to her. 

Not in this way, but…

_My dearest._

Tharja imagines a kiss on her temple and sighs at the idea. 

She can’t let it happen again. She can’t fall in love again. 

_But it’s a little too late for that, isn’t it?_

She cuts herself off two hours before she's set to meet Cordelia for real. It won't be that good to her, and she needs to cut out those fantasies before they seem plausible. Still, she imagines that spending time in the flesh and blood near Cordelia will sate her desires.

She'll just get something to eat on the way over. 

Maybe something to drink that is very, _very_ cold.

Miriel doesn't bother her as she leaves the house because that would involve looking up from whatever book she's reading. Henry waves cheerfully and says "don't stay out _too_ too late, you hear?" like he's not younger than even Tharja. The last thing she hears is his trademark a-HA-ha laugh and then she's out the door.

She checks the time. Seven after five. The show starts at seven. Not sharp, but sharp enough.

She's ready.

~●~

She always bikes with her headphones on. It's more dangerous than people would like and Miriel has warned/lectured her on it before, but the bike is tiny and so is Tharja. The only one at risk is her, even if she were to hit a pedestrian. Maybe she should be more careful with her life, but she hasn’t been in the mindset to do so for so long. 

(Since her.)

When she gets to the end of her route, she checks her phone. It’s now thirty after. Tharja still isn’t sure what she’s going to do after she locks her bike since the shuttle to Cordelia isn’t due for another half-hour. Enough time to eat? If she’s not particularly choosy, maybe, but there’s probably nowhere vegan near her. Not that she’s hardline, but it’s definitely preferable. 

Then the phone vibrates. 

_I look forward to seeing you, dear Tharja. I suppose you will be fashionably early as usual?_

Fashionably early? As usual? 

Tharja is offended at the very idea of being known and read so easily.

_I do not schedule when your malformed tin can of a shuttle is going to show up, Cordelia._

Tharja wonders if Cordelia has seen through her bluster yet. That’s generally all she has when she wants to put up a wall, though it’s failing her a lot lately. She’s in too deep, is probably what it is. 

It’s just like it was before. 

_Sure sure, Tharja. That’s what it is._

And a fucking _wink emoticon._

Tharja loves her. 

That’s a problem.

_It is. And you had best not forget it._

~●~

It's the tail end of watching the rehearsal and Tharja thinks that maybe it would be better for her not to mess around on her phone while the minutes tick by, so for once in her life she behaves. And maybe The Girl will buy it.

Probably not. But it's a dream. 

She snagged the first seat on the couch. Getting there early always gets her the best seating and that's definitely the only reason she does, definitely not because she's in love with one of the performers. 

(Tharja says sarcastically, far past the point of any serious denial and instead chastising herself for being such a sucker for a girl who definitely sees her as the one particular friend who looks at her phone to avoid looking her in the eyes.) 

It's just rehearsal at this point, the school's drama club practicing their short play a few times before an official performance in a theater by the end of the semester. Not many people, if anyone, are expected to show up, which explains why she's kicked her feet up on the couch because maybe five people are there and she's tired from the trip anyways.

Because, oh yeah, as a reminder, this isn't her school.

It's her friend's. 

A.K.A. the one that she's in love with.

_Just let me rest,_ she hisses at her invasive thoughts, her eyes at the front of the room that is charitably called a stage. It's just a student lounge, but there's a microwave and concession stand on a counter to the far right where pool tables have been shoved, the walls have a ton of student art along them and a fireplace that makes it fit the homeliness of the bar it's supposed to be set in, even if the bar top is a plastic folded table with far-too-small _what-is-this-kindergarten_ chairs that it's hilarious to see anyone play-drinking at. 

Her eyes fixate on The Girl, the kind of girl that requires capitals because she is _The Girl._ To be fair she's also the one girl that showed up today, the only one with perfect attendance to all the rehearsals that they've invited the public to see. The Girl is the only one who seems to be taking this seriously- the others are laughing and flubbing their lines without care. Tharja can't pretend that she doesn't look a _little_ longsuffering up there about the whole ordeal. Not enough to show a drastic break of character, but enough that she'd bet on a little lecture after the hypothetical curtain drops.

The Girl always was a perfectionist. 

Still, she's a sight to see. Tharja still hasn't figured out the play because it hasn't been performed all the way through even four public rehearsals in but The Girl is easily the only one who gives it her all. She plays _Josie,_ who is a friend? of the main character but also questions the reality the play is set in or something like that, Tharja isn't sure. She fights off the temptation to ask her for a copy of the script because when the play is finally performed in full, either in rehearsal or the theater, she wants it all to be unpredictable. 

And right now, The Girl makes it seem promising. She _is_ Josie, all caustic words and lonely-girl-in-the-corner spirit that Tharja naturally is, but beautiful and appealing while doing it. The only time she breaks character is when her eyes meet Tharja's in the front "row" (row requires about four more sets of quotation marks, the furniture is literally haphazardly pulled from the room) and she smiles for a second, and Tharja is too caught up in various different undefined but intense feelings to react properly in any way. Well, aside from boring holes in whatever is straight ahead. 

At that moment, the girl becomes Cordelia. She becomes the tall, stately, redheaded pinnacle of righteousness, beauty, and measured kindness that is, somehow, a friend of Tharja's. 

Then it’s gone, and she’s The Girl again. 

Well, technically she’s Josie. She’s Josie, all caustic words and lonely-girl-in-the-corner spirit that Tharja naturally is, but beautiful and appealing while doing it. Tharja can’t take her eyes away, in part because The Girl shouldn’t be able to play the role of Tharja-A.K.A.-Josie as well as she does. She’s too reserved, too kind. She’s the kind of girl that goes for extra credit and says yes ma’am and yes sir and holds doors open for Tharja and blames it on her being tall because God forbid that she take any credit for her actions. She’s _Cordelia,_ well, usually, not in moments like now, where instead of trying to take as little space as possible Josie intrudes when she feels her presence is demanded, will say things if she feels that they need to be said, will cause a goddamn fuss before fading back into being the lonely girl in the corner, out of reach of blame. 

Tharja likes that girl too.

(In the back of her head she thinks of how nice it is that Cordelia's snapping back.)

Some six takes in, Booker, the lead character played by a deliriously tall and fittingly bookish Clark Kent of a young man with enormous glasses, regards Josie again. "I know you."

Josie looks up from her drink. "I don't think so," she responds, body tensing. 

"I'm sure of it," Booker insists, Tharja mouths. 

"I'm not _from_ here," is Josie's response, given in a _please-let-me-get-back-to-drinking_ way. 

"Obviously," Booker says casually, a little smugly. This doesn't seem like anything like the dude when the scenes stop, so he must be a pretty good actor. 

Josie lets loose her grip on the drink, which had been lifted just a tad from the table. She leans on her arm and looks at Booker dead-on for the first time. She doesn't give away any emotion but Tharja sees a fire in The Girl's eyes, fire as red as her hair, and she's drawn in by the sheer force. 

"How?" she mouths at the same time that Josie asks, too quizzical to simply be curious. 

"Huh?"

"How's it obvious?" Josie's smiling. Booker should be a little put off by it. Tharja loves it. It's a total _fuck-you_ smile, and it looks divine on The Girl.

Then before Booker says something about how Josie asked what the older bartender's name was, giving away that he knew she was a visitor- and an unimpressed Josie would continue to talk to him in a very unimpressed and disconnected manner- one of the actors from the scene before burps loudly, it echoing through the pig mask he kept on for some reason. 

The actor in the horse mask next to him cackles like it's the funniest thing ever, and the take is over. 

"Fuck off," Tharja hisses to herself. Booker's actor looks shy, scratching behind his neck and apologizing to The Girl. The Girl just nods and says "It's okay, Kellam", looking exhausted with her choice of comrades, looking just a touch like Josie.

It's the closest thing to real anger that Cordelia ever shows. She should show it more often.

It's intoxicating.

~●~

They don't get through the entire play by the time that rehearsal ends. Tharja still doesn't look at her phone or she'll never look up again, so she finds a clock and sees that it's ten past nine. Of course, they went over. They're a rather dedicated if sloppy bunch, especially The Girl. 

Or, now that the rehearsal is over, Cordelia. 

Cordelia beelines to her like someone with courteous intent. It makes sense since Tharja knows basically no one from Cordelia's school. (She barely knows anyone from her own, and the ones she knows are Gaius.) Cordelia's perfect posture makes her seem even taller than Tharja, a small curvy thing who will probably be caught in a white dress praising the Lord before properly standing and looking Cordelia in the eye.

  
  


"I hope the rehearsal was to your liking," Cordelia says after greeting Tharja once more, something Tharja assumes is her getting out of character. Still, it just seems impossible that Cordelia wouldn't be soft- at least, to her friend who doesn't look her in the eye. 

"It was," Tharja responds. Her voice is toneless. Holding back will do that to you. 

"It's…" Cordelia often takes a few seconds to phrase things right. "It's a bit of a trek out here, isn't it?" 

"I don't mind," Tharja responds brusquely. "It gives me something better to do than to hole myself up with plants all day." 

Cordelia smiles. It's a tiny thing that knows all of Tharja's secrets which is weird because Cordelia is actually really fucking dense. The smile probably knows Tharja's desire for her and how the few inches of distance between them have enough friction to set her on fire, but Cordelia herself could go to her grave not knowing unless it was spelled out for her. 

(Such a smile was a trap that Tharja nearly fell for, thinking that Cordelia knew and that she didn't think it was so bad. Tharja got a little closer, smiled a little more, just to see what she could get away with. Turns out Cordelia is so dense that Tharja could kiss her and be told she's such a good friend, but Cordelia's unwitting insistence that they're friends has kind of spooked Tharja.

No. Friends for Tharja are rare. Especially friends as good as Cordelia.)

Daylight savings time just started, so it's still chilly but only now twilight. Tharja hasn’t gotten her trenchcoat out of her bag yet and isn't exactly dressed for a formal lecture besides. She's stopped caring if the boys stare at her exposed skin, but she also definitely checks to see if Cordelia is. Of course, Cordelia is the pope, so she doesn't and Tharja's affectionately lambasted goth thot style (neither her words nor Cordelia's) stays in her eyes alone. 

Damn it; she chose her best short skirt for this.

Meanwhile, Cordelia huddles into her varsity jacket like the jock that she isn't really anymore and according to her hasn't been since her high school days. Tharja wants to tell her to go inside and leave her at the shuttle stop but doesn't actually _want_ Cordelia to go, so she amuses herself with thoughts of this beanpole nerd of a starlet being some sort of track and field goddess. 

That doesn't last long because Cordelia looks at her and asks "how on Earth are you _sweating,_ of all things?" and Tharja flashes back to Earth to see Cordelia in the varsity jacket and baggy high-waisted jeans and not a striped Jersey and mesh short shorts and kind of wishes she could melt into the ground. 

"Goodness, you have a strong internal heating system," Cordelia muses with a jealous huff. 

_(If you had slutty thoughts about hot girls, you probably would too,_ Tharja very nearly bites back.) 

Instead, she shrugs. "Just thinking about things." 

"What sort of things?" 

Tharja smirks and bites her lip at once. "Just, like…" she messily waves her hand in the air until she processes a fitting lie. "Trying to remember when your next rehearsal is." Before Cordelia says anything, Tharja adds "I'll probably have nothing going on that day, but it'll be best to make sure." 

"Can't be too careful," Cordelia says with that same smile that is way smarter than her. "A week sharp from here. It's the dress rehearsal, and the last one before the play itself, which is in two weeks." 

Tharja does her best to really focus on what she says afterward and in some universe gets it, but she's a little too focused on the words _dress rehearsal._ "What sort of stuff does Josie even wear anyways?" 

Cordelia giggles. "Don't sound too taken with her," she warns. 

(Tharja smirks. _Josie's not the problem, baby._ ) 

Thoughtfully, she muses "Well, the play is set in the post-Korean War era. To be more…" Cordelia stops herself. "Well, we haven't publicly rehearsed far enough yet, but… I'd imagine Josie to be sort of..." She seems to have a flash of realization, but it's gone before Tharja can give it permanence. "I suppose you'll just have to see, won't you?" 

"My, but you are cruel," Tharja jokes with a husky chuckle. Then, far too heavily: “I like it.”

Cordelia gets to be a tease. She deserves to misbehave every now and again. 

It also might be Tharja’s thing, but the two aren’t related.

Cordelia just giggles again knowingly. It is the sound of tin cans on a loose string in a gale- shaky, lively, and sharp enough to echo.

(Though that might just be how much Tharja hears it. When she means to, when she doesn't, when she daydreams during dull moments of class, when she just wants to sleep but can only think of Cordelia, her arms around Tharja's waist as she lies against her, not there but more than she can ever hope for.) 

"You really seem to know a lot about Josie," Tharja muses.

Cordelia gasps just a little. She's not subtle. Even when she tries to play it off with "I should hope!" 

"Is that just an actress thing?" 

Cordelia puts her hand in her pocket. "I'm not sure," she admits. "Maybe with those who have more experience and go more method. However, this is my first time acting for other people on such a scale." 

Tharja gives Cordelia a look that just waits for her to admit she was joking. She's not joking. "There's no way," she breathes. True, she'd only met Cordelia six months ago, but she thought she knew her more than that. "You're _in_ the drama club." 

Cordelia scratches the back of her neck. It's like she forgot she was ever cold. "I mean, this is only my first semester in this particular club," she admits. "And I'm generally more of a writer than anything. You know how I love to read." 

Tharja nods, barely withholding a scoff. "I _know_ that you love to read," she says. "And I know _what_ you love to read. And I pray to God you write better than that." 

Cordelia looks comically wounded. "I'd shared those books with you having given the _expressed_ knowledge that they were books I loved when I was younger." 

"I'm holding onto that," Tharja bites back, arms crossed underneath her smirk. "I don't befriend lame-asses who sincerely write fairytales."

"I neither write fairytales nor read them," Cordelia scoffs. 

Somewhere distant, Tharja can sense a peculiar darkness in her voice. Something that goes beyond the pale.

Still, she can’t help but tease. 

"So what _do_ you call them?" 

Cordelia just pushes Tharja, and she cackles, barely missing a step. 

(On the list of things she plans to never admit to Cordelia, actually liking one of the books she recommended is near the top.

She says to herself that it's because she's never seen a cheesy stereotypical knight in shining armor story between two girls and not because Cordelia could be her knight any day. Some things she can't admit to herself.

Like how badly she wants a fairy tale.)

"You should share your writing with me sometime." 

Cordelia doesn't look at her. She smiles, but it's nervous in how it knows something that Tharja suspects she doesn't. 

"Promise I won't mock you," she offers. _Without reason, at least._ Tharja's always been a tease herself. Dish what she wants to take. 

Cordelia's smile loses its melancholic twist. "Maybe someday," she says. "You never know."

Tharja can almost buy that it's normal. Fuck, she wants to. 

"That would be nice," she responds, as to not overthink. 

The shuttle back to town runs by. It'll drop her downtown, then she'll bike to the other side of town back home. She's got it stuffed in a locker not too far from the shuttle stop. Tharja looks at Cordelia, longing to get to a place where she can just sort of beckon to the bus and they'd both get on and Tharja would have no clue what she's doing but it would be closer to home with Cordelia near her. 

But they're not there yet.

(Probably won't ever be, really.)

Cordelia hugs like she's never gonna see Tharja again. She does this _every time._ And, yeah, Tharja loves how Cordelia always clutches her underneath her arms and nuzzles into her shoulder despite the height difference, and she _loves_ how this basically gives her permission to press Cordelia close to her heart, hands digging into her back between her shoulder blades, but the more in love she's fallen, the more she's worried that when the bus takes her away, that she'll never see Cordelia again. 

Cordelia always says to text her when she gets home safe, but that's starting to become more for Tharja than anything. 

"Take care, dear Tharja," Cordelia breathes into Tharja's ear. The words kiss her without knowing it.

"Y-you too." 

It's more nervous than Tharja gets. Fitting that Cordelia is the one who could rock Tharja's being out of orbit like that.

Tharja watches Cordelia out of her window until the bus pulls away. She never walks away until, Tharja presumes, she's gone and has to make the trek back to life without her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a story and a quarter.


	2. Best Behavior

Cordelia closes her eyes as she enters the student lounge again. There’s not much left for her to do that evening save for cleaning. The crew had already debriefed before she had reconvened with Tharja, and most of them are absent by the time she gets back in. 

She can’t say that she’s surprised, truthfully, but she sure wishes that she could be. 

Stahl gives her a brief wave before moving the couch that Tharja lay on back to the side of the room. She responds with a formal smile and a thank you, to which he grins and says “of course!” like it was a given that he would help. Stahl is a good man, Cordelia has decided. No one on her team seems like a bad person, but Stahl is actively good. 

She cracks her knuckles and gets started. 

“You’re actually lifting it up?”

Cordelia grins with pride, a folded plastic table under the left arm and supported by the right. “I’ve always been a bit athletic,” she explains to a slack-jawed Stahl. Well, that’s sort of half-explaining it. Her mother told her that taking a sport would be a good way to release all her pent-up aggression. 

(She took volleyball per Mother’s recommendation. A more aggressive sport like wrestling might have suited her, but she was at least able to pretend that the ball was the face of some of the jerks at her school, so that was good enough for her.)

Stahl whistles. “I’ll say. I was gonna ask if you needed any help, but-”

“I’ve got it.”

Stahl salutes her. “Godspeed.”

Cordelia doesn’t keep up at the gym in vain, as it turns out. True, as a writer now she’s got less use for her muscles, but it’s best to keep up good behavior for times like these.

Stahl’s face alone is worth a couple of months of membership fees, at least. 

The closing of Maribelle’s parasol is heard before her footsteps and then her voice is. “Did they honestly leave you two to do all the work on your own?” she barks, setting it down on Tharja’s couch. “Deplorable, truly.” 

Finally, Cordelia looks up from the countertop that she is washing (one that she is certain that the drama club didn’t use). Maribelle is sauntering in, body language rife with disgust and sympathy both. Cordelia waves at her with a smile, washrag in hand, and Stahl says “hey” without looking up. 

“Did you have a good time with Olivia?” 

Maribelle’s smile reaches her ears. Mention her girlfriend and any traces of bad mood disappear for at least a couple of minutes. “It was truly pleasant,” Maribelle says with a dreamy sigh. “Thank you for asking.”

It’s the sweetest Maribelle allows herself to be. Cordelia isn’t entirely sure what to make of it, but it leaves her feeling like she’s missing something.

(She’s not so sure she wants to find it, either.)

“I hope my presence here wasn’t required after all during the rehearsal?”

Stahl shakes his head. “No, you’re good, Maribelle. We won’t need you until next week.”

“Ah, yes,” she nods. “The dress rehearsal. I’ll be sure to have everything ready to set up by then.” Looking to Cordelia: “I’ll be sure to confer with you before that day. Now, would you be a dear and allow me to clean the counter? I’d be happier if the two of you took some rest, but…” She gestures behind her. It is still a mess. “Sadly, the  _ three of us  _ have a lot of work to do, and I’d imagine you would be better on heavy-duty than I.”

Cordelia nods, already feeling herself get lost in thought.

Maribelle is not an actress. Cordelia isn’t sure if she would be an excellent actress or if she could never stop being herself long enough to take on another character. She’s instead in charge of staging and styling, which according to Maribelle “is the single most important part of a play. It is  _ nothing  _ without immersion.”

Cordelia can’t disagree. 

(She’s spent a lot of time stylizing herself into someone ideal.)

As she starts to drag the pool tables back into place with Stahl, she thinks of what Tharja said. 

_ You seem to know a lot about Josie. _

Cordelia definitely should. She hadn’t originally intended to act, instead working behind the scenes as the playwright, but when the original actress for Josie dropped out due to her workload, Cordelia was asked to fill in. Just as well; she wanted this to go as smoothly as possible. She had this script in her back pocket for a couple of months before joining drama club, in between meeting Tharja and signing up. She didn’t want to make any amateur mistakes. 

Cordelia doesn’t make mistakes. 

It is impossible not to think of Josie without thinking of Tharja. Though Tharja tends to lean on the side of caution around Cordelia and company lately, Josie was a role that Tharja was meant to play. So caustic in a way that suggests that while she is not above it all, she is unhappy with the state of things that surround her- a special kind of sadness that Tharja cannot disown. Josie herself was not created to have personality- it’s complicated- but Cordelia cannot help but think of her as her own entity, and her proximity to Tharja gives her a feeling of warmth.

(In truth, Tharja is a role that Josie is playing.)

The sound of Tharja's name perks her ears, mispronounced as it may be. 

"That's the name of your friend, right?" Stahl asks, slowly pulling another pool table to its spot.

"Close. Thar-ja, just as it's spelled." 

" _ Oh, _ " Stahl says. "See, I thought it was like Marcia. Like the Brady." 

" _ Marcia, Marcia, Marcia, _ " Maribelle helpfully volunteers before she can help herself.

"Hey, nice!" Stahl chuckles, impressed.

Slightly embarrassed, Maribelle responds "Ah, my Brady Bunch knowledge starts and ends there." Clearing her throat. "Anyway, about Cordelia's friend?" 

Cordelia perks her head up. She'd almost forgotten the subject at hand. "Oh. Yes?" 

"She's been at every rehearsal you've been at," Stahl points out. "And when we do open rehearsals, generally we get, like, family or we get partners. Like Vaike's big brother, or Kellam's girlfriend, or Libra for me." He's scratching the back of his neck shyly. 

"My darling Olivia," Maribelle muses more than she converses. "I'm honestly not sure  _ why.  _ Her legs still have yet to fully heal and it's not as though I'm on stage." 

(Cordelia doesn't know why either, but she always recognizes Olivia in the front row, pastel pink tresses draped strategically around Maribelle's face as she observes the play from a resting point on Olivia's chest. Whatever it is, though, has the sort of power to it that Cordelia can't piece together. She just knows Maribelle needs it more than she will say.)

"And Libra works a lot at the church," Stahl says proudly. "All sorts of sermons and fundraisers and charity work. Dude's always got a project going and he never misses a rehearsal. It's kind of crazy." 

( _ You also never miss a Sunday now that you're with him,  _ Cordelia wants to say, but she just smiles.)

Instead, she asks the question lingering. "I suppose you're wondering if Tharja is my partner, right?" 

"A  _ little  _ curious," Stahl admits. 

Maribelle sniffs, having nearly cleaned off every surface area by now. "I always was a nosy one, admittedly. And truth be told, Tharja doesn't seem like your type at all, much less the type to be interested in storytelling by any medium." 

(Cordelia thinks of Tharja teasing her about the books she read and blinks a few times. It shouldn't sting like it does. She's not that type of girl anymore. Truly)

"Tharja  _ isn't  _ really a fairy tale type of girl, I'll admit."

(She's sure of both.)

"So why is she here?" Stahl asks, all finished and leaning against a table.

"She knows that a friend will be here," Cordelia explains, pushing the last of the chairs into the round tables. "Other than that, she must have seen something she liked in the performance." 

"I believe that something is  _ you,  _ darling." 

Cordelia's within arms range enough to lightly shove Maribelle, who continues her cleaning streak uninterrupted. "I'm flattered, truly," she says. "But Tharja hasn't shown any romantic tells around me, intentional or otherwise." 

Or maybe Cordelia just hasn't been looking. 

Maribelle doesn't hesitate. "I hadn't explicitly mentioned romantic interest." The smile on her face is like Booker's when he explains why Josie isn't from around there, which she designed to be fairly obnoxious. 

"Oh…" Cordelia just shrugs. Is she blushing a little? Maybe. "I must have picked up the wrong inferences." She knows she picked up the right ones, but oh well.

Best to stay on her best behavior.

“Odd as your tastes are,” Maribelle follows confidently, as though all of her questions have already been answered, “I will do my best to respect them." 

Cordelia can't help but snort. At least her intentions are good. Tharja  _ is  _ odd, and honestly, she would start a fight with Maribelle if Maribelle stepped on her toes (she'd already interacted with Stahl by telling him to fuck off when he asked if she meant to show early once) but she's all heart deep down and she hopes that Maribelle can acknowledge that.

"You have my word.”

She’s ever the dramatic one, that Maribelle.

Cordelia finally finishes with a smile. "Thank you."

~●~

The three split after that. Stahl has studying to do and Maribelle is oddly intense about not leaving Olivia alone for too long. (Olivia and Maribelle's relationship still perplexes Cordelia. As odd as Maribelle finds her decisions in friends there's something that Cordelia cannot define about how devoutly Maribelle and Olivia need each other, a je ne sais quoi that seems to be something specific to them.) 

Cordelia walks back to her dorm room. It's started to drizzle and she slips on the hood of her varsity jacket. She's curious about Tharja now, perhaps even more than Stahl and Maribelle were. In truth, she doesn’t mind the curiosity and the rumors don’t faze her. They can make of her friendship with Tharja what they wish. 

It’s sort of flattering that they would think that someone like Cordelia, who’s as plain as a drab summer day, could attract someone like Tharja, but Tharja doesn’t seem interested and Cordelia isn’t going to force her hand. Better she faces the questions and rumors than the antisocial Tharja. She knows how easily embarrassed that Tharja gets when strangers talk to her about unimportant things; she can’t imagine others accusing  _ her  _ of a tryst. 

There would be bodies in the street.

Cordelia is only half-joking. 

When she returns to her dorm- clean as usual- she receives a text message from Tharja herself.  _ Made it home.  _

Cordelia smiles as she takes her damp jacket off.  _ I do hope you enjoyed yourself!  _ She goes to hang it up, finding it to be something to do while she waits for the next text message. When she finishes, Tharja hasn’t responded, so Cordelia finds herself waiting, looking around the room for something to do when she sees something. 

Ah, yes. How could she forget?

Tharja is not the type to make friends easily. In many instances, she would look the other way when Cordelia passed by. Not an unfamiliar feeling to her, so she can’t say she’d judge. The image she cultivates- or the character she tries to take control of- is someone who welcomes invisibility, not drawing attention to herself. At least, not since she… 

Well, never mind that.

The point is that for anyone to avoid being someone that Tharja walks past, you have to give her a reason to stop, and unwittingly, Cordelia did, by being in a local nursery pacing around looking for a plant to place in her dorm room.

(Tharja had mentioned afterward that Cordelia was making her anxious with all of her pacing and she had to put a stop to it. Cordelia couldn't imagine her anxiety being used for good until then.)

_ “Bamboo is either too big or too small,” she remembers Tharja saying. “Third strike, incredibly basic.” Then, glancing over her shoulder at Cordelia: “Unless that happens to be your thing,” with a taunting lilt in her voice that implies that it  _ shouldn't _ be her thing. _

_ “I, ah…” Cordelia remembered wanting to give a nonpartisan answer but felt like it would be wrong. Still, she can only give “I'm… not sure I care either way.” _

_ Tharja hummed, impressed with her honesty.  _

_ “If you want succulents, they're low maintenance but absolute nothings unless you get far too many of them to afford. For a dorm, I'd say around forty-  _

_ “Forty?!” _

_ Tharja stopped. Cordelia thought she was blushing for a second, but it was gone before she gave it permanence.  _

_ “I, uh… I am rather fond of plants,” she explains like she expects that to be the end of their interactions. _

_ Instead, Cordelia just smiled. “How lucky that I ran into you, then!”  _

_ With a huff: “I'm fairly certain that I ran into you.” _

_ “Does it matter?”  _

Cordelia takes a spray bottle near the plant that they decided on that day, replaying Tharja's instructions on how to water the hanging fern near the window as she does so. The part where it's just out of direct sunlight is easy, as Cordelia always keeps an inch of her curtain closed for it, but she always uses a toothpick to check if the top three inches of soil are dry. They are, so Cordelia happily mists it, Tharja's velvet croon reminding her listlessly on just how best to do so.

_ Good,  _ she always says in Cordelia's imagination. In real-time, she beams. How lovely it is to have a piece of Tharja in her room.

(In some ways, it's like caring for Tharja herself.)

After that's finished, she finally recalls that she texted Tharja. Grabbing her phone, she reads the messages after she sent her hope that Tharja enjoyed herself.

_ I did. You did well.  _

_ I didn’t say that while I was there, but you did well.  _

Did she not? Maybe Cordelia could just sense Tharja’s pride. It’s in such contrast to the moments where Tharja likes to tease and embarrass her for her choices past and present that even when it’s not spoken, it’s felt. 

(Yes. That must be it.)

_ I’m so flattered that you think so, Tharja! _

Very flattered. Cordelia feels something in her gut that tells her she did well. She knows that she did independent of this, but this feels like the cherry on top. 

_ This is no idle flattery, Cordelia. I am legitimately impressed by you.  _

God help Cordelia, she might start crying. “Oh, Tharja,” she whispers, falling onto her bed, hair cascading over her face so forcefully that she has to push it out of her vision before grabbing her phone again.

Tharja texts again:  _ And I do not hand out compliments freely, so you had better cherish it.  _

Cordelia giggles. Of course, Tharja can’t not be Tharja. The moments that seem out of character simply enforce the character she has. 

As she turns in, she muses that she likes the character of Tharja. 

~●~

Cordelia has not woken up gracefully at any point in her life and has gradually if painfully learned to accept that. Part of her hair is in her mouth, too sturdy to be chewed off, and her legs are splayed messily beneath her, her sweatpants bunched up to her knees. Her camisole is half-off, the straps down to the crook of her elbows. She's a right mess- thank God no one is looking- and feels the aches and pains in her muscles, so thankfully she's waking up at a good time for a nine o'clock class, but she will probably need time to avoid looking like she was in an accident.

She'll need a little bit of time to properly look like Cordelia.

She pulls herself up. She's too young to have her muscles feel as weak as they are, though maybe it's just early. She’s only twenty-two; she needn’t be so concerned. She sits on the edge of her bed, pulling her clothes to the correct positions and throwing her favorite white robe on over them. It hugs her down to her knees and her cold blood warms again. 

Better. It's still only six-thirty in the morning, if her alarm clock is correct- not that she's ever needed the alarm- so she has time to get ready.

Waiting until her coffee is ready to check her phone makes no difference as there are no messages that matter. It seems as though no one pays her mind save for Sumia, the dear, and occasionally a few schoolmates. She misses Sumia and has ever since the younger girl went to college out of state, but she easily stays in contact with her more than anyone save for Tharja. 

Tharja, who is easily becoming the most interesting part of Cordelia. 

Being Tharja's guardian has been a refuge in some ways. With Sumia, it was easy. Sumia is a lovely and spirited girl that has made Cordelia feel antsy and stiff in recent comparison, but she has always been a little clumsy and airheaded. Not that those detract from her loveliness, but they do activate Cordelia's mom friend qualities. Tharja has more or less declared independence, but Cordelia can't help her instincts, and shielding Tharja from nosy associates is a way to fulfill those instincts.

In many ways, Cordelia likes that Tharja is tied to her, that she's Cordelia's person. Her plus-one. Tharja is a good woman, good in a way that Cordelia is surprised that she saw. She tends to be a bit of a blockhead when it comes to people like Tharja, but she brings something to Cordelia's heart that she wishes she still had.

Cordelia doesn't realize that she's finished her cup of coffee before she has. She places it in the bathroom sink to wash after dressing, again thankful that she has her own dorm room. A shame it had to come from disclosing her own anxiety disorders with the staff, but better than dealing with another person there. She tends to live alone, though living unbothered would be a little nicer. 

As long as she can decide when she can deal with people, at least. 

(Cordelia considers messaging Tharja good morning, but Tharja doesn't generally wake up until midway through Cordelia's first class. Her sleep schedule is… odd at best, an abomination at worst, said entirely by the fact that none of her classes start until the afternoon. No, best to let Tharja message her first as usual, though Cordelia would like to wish her good morning once, as a good friend would do.)

Instead, Cordelia dresses with only the amount of effort required not to look slovenly. A knitted burgundy sweater and a pale pair of jeans will do. She washes the coffee cup and freshens up to the bare minimum. Then, she’s on her bed again with a tablet in her hand. She foregoes the news- best to start the day on a good foot, after all- and instead finds her way to Google.

Cordelia is unfamiliar with fashion. She has to look up in full “fashion where adults wear the clothes of children” to start down the road that leads her to a suitable outfit style. She tries to imagine if it is something that Josie would wear as a child; true, the power is all hers, but Cordelia bends to the characters, not the characters to her. 

She wonders what kind of things Tharja wore as a child. That  _ could  _ inform her choices. Perhaps she’ll think of a way to incorporate that into a later conversation. For now, she has a bit of character development to do. Curse Tharja for keeping her at it so close to the final performance. 

Later that day, Tharja messages her a simple  _ hello.  _

_ Hello yourself, Tharja,  _ she responds back with a smiley emoticon. She’s not generally much for using them, but best to show warmth to those who need the reassurance of it. 

Meanwhile, Tharja may as well be allergic to emotions.  _ I trust today is going smoothly? _

“Well, I didn’t know that I had entered a scientific study,” Cordelia whispers to herself, sitting at the edge of a cafeteria table.  _ Yes, my classes went off without a hitch. Yours?  _

_ Uneventful.  _

Cordelia smiles. Tharja barely betrays information but it feels like her. 

A few messages in and Cordelia decides to ask. It feels a little odd, but she never backs down from a challenge or from potentially looking markedly foolish.  _ Could you perchance do me a favor? _

_ Depends.  _

That’s something that Cordelia has learned to take as an  _ in-  _ well, after the first one ended in a dance of jumbled intentions that Cordelia did not take as affirmatively as Tharja meant for her to. Turns out, her  _ depends  _ is an  _ absolutely  _ and Cordelia’s  _ depends  _ is a  _ you best stop it now.  _

_ Do you have any photos of yourself from when you were younger? _

Tharja doesn’t respond immediately. Cordelia has tried very,  _ very  _ hard to learn patience over the years but she doesn’t have any food to distract herself with. She behaved and didn’t cave in to buy a muffin because she hasn’t the heart to gain enough weight to buy new clothes. Hard enough shopping for a tall girl as it is. 

Damn it all, she might buy a carrot or something if it just means she has something to distract herself. She could chew on a plastic straw so long as it assuages her nerves. 

She isn’t sure why she asked. 

And she damn sure can’t come up with an excuse as to why she asked when Tharja sends back simply  _ No.  _

_ Quite all right,  _ is all Cordelia sends back with another smiley. But it’s not as all right as she would say. A reply that was two letters long should not have taken four minutes. 

Unless… maybe Tharja was simply looking through her phone for something to send. Yes, that must be it. 

Of course, never content with an illusion, Cordelia adds  _ Not everyone has a childhood photo stash hidden on their phone somewhere. I understand!  _

_ And you do?  _

Cordelia giggles.  _ Not quite, but…  _

She isn’t sure why she’s feeling so self-conscious over sharing a photo of ten-year-old Cordelia that she dug up from one of her computer albums, but she’d rather ask herself that question than why she immediately jogged from the cafeteria back to her dorm room where her laptop with the photos was. She’s never digitally shared photos of her with anyone, not even those she dated- though they’ve never given her reason to. She isn’t naturally and objectively beautiful like Tharja; she could never work a camera in a way that would interest people.

Pure information is the only interest she can offer.

She digs into the folder full of nostalgic pictures, ones that fill her with faint memories of things she did as a child that dissipate as she goes to the next one. She hasn’t thought about childhood often; it’s not that she avoids it (she thinks- no, she knows), it’s that it doesn’t have solidity in her mind. 

She decides on one that looks nice enough- young, rambunctious Cordelia with long and wild hair red as a raspberry in a striped shirt and pair of overalls. It is cute, as far as childish Cordelia goes. 

Cordelia tries not to think any further but it's tricky.

The child she used to be feels like a different person.

_ Hah, you were a wild child.  _

Cordelia beams. 

_ What happened to her? _

The beam fades. 

It doesn’t die as abruptly as it would if she were actually hurt, or at least that’s what she convinces herself. 

But it does fade.

Cordelia isn’t quite sure how to respond, or why she’s feeling such a pit in her gut. Maybe it’s because, truth be told, that girl hasn’t been around in ages. The girl who is defiant and haphazard, climbs trees to free kites for Sumia, who tells the boys to leave her and her for-show bra straps alone in middle school and punches a repeat offender so hard he cries, who manages to get straight As despite having a reputation as more trouble than she’s worth.

(More trouble than those bastards could handle.)

She knows what changed. She knows why she changed. She knows why she plays it safe now. She knows exactly why she behaves. 

She knows why she can’t breathe. 

And she probably knows why there’s that pit in her gut too. 

_ I haven’t seen her in ages! Let me know if you find her.  _

The laughing emoticon is the opposite of how she feels. 

At least she’s alone, staring at the ceiling with tears in her eyes. Breathing steadily, deeply, so as to avoid breaking down. 

Then the phone vibrates again. Right. 

_ I’m sure she’s inside somewhere. Trust me, you don’t lose that part of you for good.  _

Cordelia sobs just once.  _ Oh, come now, Cordelia,  _ she thinks, but aside from chastising herself, she doesn’t know what to say. She should tell herself that young Cordelia was immature, and her growth as a person has been beneficial, but she'd be lying if she told herself that there wasn't anything that felt missing between then and now, and she knows it. 

She wonders if Tharja has noticed the absence. Her behavior has never promised differently, but maybe it's just lacking.

Something certainly is.

~●~

_ “No,” Tharja responded, turning to walk down an aisle in the open air. “I suppose it doesn’t make much difference at all.” _

_ Then, beckoning Cordelia: “Come along now. We’ve a lot to see.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter might be awhile on account of me not having written it. I have ideas, but not really sure how to get from A to B.


End file.
